Authors: Christin Jensen
Farris returned to the hospital that afternoon after taking a long lunch. “I thought I’d check out your local bookstore, over by Vanderbilt,” he told Clarice. “I guess I haven’t told you how my shrink got me studying family history to figure out who the hell I am. I found me a little treasure trove down here, while you were resting.”
“I hope your family history is nicer than mine,” Clarice responded. She had the bed propped up into a sitting position; apparently John Thomas had just finished his own lunch. “I know everything about my mother’s family – the Perrers, and I wouldn’t wish that history on anybody, though it seems to be common enough around here.”
“The thing was,” Farris explained, “I didn’t remember my mother, and my father would hardly speak to me. It turns out that’s bad for a growing boy.”
“I’m not surprised,” Clarice responded, “but you needn’t worry about little John Thomas from that standpoint. He’ll know plenty of relatives and all the family stories that are fit to print.”
“He might need a few of the naughty stories to explain some things to him.” Farris was still wondering if anybody like him had a right to bring children into this nasty world. “I would certainly have done better if I’d known where my father’s reticence came from. – Dad had served in Vietnam, see, and he was driving the car when my mother died.”
“Oh, Farris, I’m so sorry,” Clarice exclaimed. “And then I blundered in with my own problems and brought the whole thing out in the open.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he replied gruffly. “I needed to come to terms with the thing. – But all this seems a damn far cry from us riding off into the sunset with our child and being happy.”
“There’s never a fairy tale ending,” Clarice told him, “even though both of us tried hard not to face reality. Even the daytime soap operas are more realistic.”
Farris quirked a bitter smile. “I’m not sure I could take to marrying a whole cast serially, even if the Supreme Court says I could,” he joked. “Anyway, I love you, and I want things to work out between us.” He nodded toward the crib. “As for little John Thomas, he’s just unbelievable. Did he eat okay at lunch?”
Clarice smiled. “I knew one of the nurses had been talking to you. Hopefully, Dr. Shaunessy will explain to us what we need to do these next few days. I’m almost afraid to think beyond that.”
“We’ll have to spend some time in Sewanee; that’s for certain,” Farris admitted. “The fairy tales never mention all the legal and financial complications that are possible. I love your website, by the way. That’s partly young Angus’ doing, isn’t it?”
“Angus has been a big help,” Clarice admitted, “and he’s talented, too. It would be amusing if it turns out I got my artistic ability from the Pirtle line.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t get it from Maurice de Saxe,” Farris quipped, smiling. “Actually, a talent like yours must be an individual gift, not something from a blood line. – Look at the Bach family. Terry McGee listens to the old man’s music when he’s figuring the estate books, says it helps him keep his head straight. None of the Bach kids were ever anything more than mediocre.”
“My, you have got a good liberal arts education for a horse breeder,” Clarice teased.
Time moved on, as time so inconsiderately does, and soon it was time for Clarice and the baby to leave the hospital. “I’ve hired an ambulance to get them back to Sewanee,” Farris told John Pirtle while they worked their way through the release forms and paid the balances left after Clarice’s insurance paid. “I would have hired a Hummer limo, but Angus told me some of those roads are not so good.”
“I notice the staff is calling Clarice ‘Mrs. Croxton’,” Pirtle remarked. “You all planning to make good on that?”
Farris sighed. “As always, that depends on Clarice. I haven’t wanted to push her. – But I’ve got to get back to Kentucky in the next week or so. Both Bolivia and Bellona have just foaled again, and I need to check out the little ones.”
“I understand,” Pirtle told him. “Just remember that Angus and I are always just a phone call away. – Young Underhill has filed a Temporary Restraining Order to keep Marion from bothering Clarice and John Thomas; you’ll probably see the news about it in the tabloids.”
Farris followed along behind the ambulance as she managed its way through the bumpy dirt roads to Clarice’s humble home. He had dedicated himself to staying on at least the first few weeks while she managed herself and his newborn son. He glanced around the rigidly old place. Despite her work, this was no place to raise a child in and he knew it. His stomach churned at the thought of his only son and love of his life trapped in this place with that wench looming around.
Not on my watch
. He growled to himself. The transport was slow into the house, but finally mother and baby were settled for a long night’s rest. He walked the small place, glanced at some of the obvious improvements she had made to the place.
You can’t polish a turd
. He thought to himself,
but she sure had done a decent job in some places
.
As the week passed and the child began to sleep more into the night, Clarice became something of herself again, able to move around more freely and tend to things with the business. Several commissions had come in while she was busy giving birth to her son and she hurried to set about plans for the sketches. Farris had become more of a help than before, though she knew he had much to learn. He had planned to head out the following week, back to the farm and her little slice of heaven. That night, after the baby had gone down for its final night feeding, the two sat awkwardly in the living room. He rubbed his hands nervously on his jeans, wanting so badly to embrace her, but still fearful of it, remembering the nurses instructions. He inched closer and wrapped his arm around her.
From that close of a distance he could smell her scent once more, savoring the smells of her hair and skin as he had done what felt like so long ago. He smiled and gazed into her eyes. She looked tired, but still as beautiful as ever. He leaned in, kissing her ear gently and nibbling as he went. At first, Clarice didn’t feel like she was in the mood, but as his persistent teasing continued she could feel the rush of hormones once again converging on her. She allowed him to caress her, closing her eyes and drawing pleasure from his gentle touch. He rubbed her shoulders, the soreness leaving each muscle and relaxing her body at the same time. She leaned upward, kissing him deeply, their tongues dancing intimately once more. Her body was electrified once again, remember what it felt like to be loved, to be desired. He let out a soft moan, feeling the erection growing beneath his pants. Soon his body pressed tightly against hers, leaning her back until her head rested on the arm of her rickety old couch. The spring’s groaned under the lovers’ weight.
“You are still as beautiful as ever,” he whispered in her ear, lowering his pants to the floor beside him, “I love you Clarice.”
His words filled her heart. Even after all she, and her body had gone through he still desired her as deep as he had the first time on Two Flags ranch. She caressed his stiffening cock with her hand, watching as the feeling stirring pleasure in his eyes. He licked his lips hungrily and dove in for another long passionate kiss. Soon he was inside her wetness once again, slowly pressing himself deep with her crevice and feel the heat of her passion building around it. He rocked gently, being as gentle as possible considering it had been so long since she was his. Clarice’s body remember almost instantly the pleasures of intimate connection with Farris, the way his body filled her to the brink of fullness. She closed her eyes, allowing the sensations of his warm body to surround her thoughts. He grunted and moaned, signs of his true desire for her. She could feel the pressure building up, threatening to burst in an explosion of hot, wet pleasure. Farris too was reaching his climax, gripping the couch and quietly whimpering with need. He thrust once last time as the two ignited in the flames of organism. They lay together on the couch, holding one another tightly.
This is what I missed more than anything
, he thought to himself. He knew he would do anything to have her in his arms, as his love and wife, for the rest of his given life.
Later that night, as the two slept peaceful beside their young son, he rose and glanced out the window at the night sky. He reflected on how much his life had changed since the arrival of Clarice to the ranch and all the drama that it had brought with it. Though the girl couldn’t help it after all, it was her bitch of a mother doing most of the dirty work. He had found himself caught up smack dab in the middle of a war between innocent daughter and evil wench mother, and he was dogging the bullets as he went. But as he looked over at the two of them as they slept peacefully, he decided that the drama was certainly worth it. He was now a proud father and, if Clarice would have him, soon a proud husband as well. She really was a catch with her talent and open heart, love for animals and her beauty was matched by no other.
As things turned out, Farris returned home alone but married. A local Episcopal minister had quietly married the couple in his study, while Angus played the reluctant babysitter. He listened intently to the vows and repeated them, while a tear soaked Clarice looked on with a mixture of fear and excitement. This man, after all, had fought long and hard for her love and now he deserved his shot. Angus himself would need some fathering experience soon, Clarice reminded him. He shot a crimson look in Farris’s direction at the painful reminder and the two let out a roar of laughter.
Immediately upon entering his own house back on Two Flags ranch, Farris proudly showed the McGees his wedding band. “There’s a picture of Clarice’s band on my phone,” he added, “wait until you see it.”
“I’ll be glad to show you young Journal and Nabonidus,” Terry McGee told him, “but first you’ll have to tell us what we’ll need to do to prepare for your lady and the young squire.”
“We’ll probably need to do some interior renovation work.” Farris sat down and prepared to discuss his ideas. “I’ll give Clarice her little guest cabin for her artwork, of course, but my bedroom will need to be enlarged and the attached bath modernized. As for the nursery, we’re going to need two adjoining rooms with a bath installed. Clarice has already agreed to let me hire a nanny; I don’t see how any working mother can function without one.”
“So Miss Clarice won’t be a typical housewife.” Dina nodded. “Good. I didn’t think that would suit. We can buy cloth diapers, of course. I keep a load of laundry going all the time anyway, and Terry’s just upgraded me to industrial-size machines.”
“Lord,” Farris marveled. “I never thought falling in love would entail this much labor.”
Dina gave a sarcastic laugh and winked. “Well there is a reason they call it the labor of love.”
Farris and the others began preparations for the renovations and upgrades to Clarice’s old cabin so that she would have all the necessities a talented artist such as herself should have. The main house became a slew of chaos with painters and carpenters, as well as packages arriving by the day filled with supplies for his new wife and her work, as well as his baby boy. He was now a proud father and husband, though the whole process was going to take some more time and adjustment, he was happy that his life had changed in so many ways.
While she was finishing off her local commissions, Clarice was not surprised to receive a call from the mousy little clerk at her mother’s real estate agency.
“Mrs. Croxton, since you won’t be using that pleasant Sewanee property you own, I was wondering if you’d consider letting our agency handle the lease on it,” Mr. Mortimer suggested. “We handle leases for a number of out-of-town owners, and we have a triple-A rating with the Better Business Bureau.”
“Dear Mr. Mortimer!” Clarice felt sorry for the dried-up little man who had always been under her mother’s thumb. “I’m afraid I’m acting as my own agent just now, with Mr. Underhill’s advice, of course. I have a lease agreement starting the first of next month with Mr. Angus Pirtle, my half-brother. He’s moving out of the dorm at term end anyway and plans to stay in this house for the rest of his education. It will be at least two years before I will have to find another tenant.”
“Well, don’t forget us, little lady.” Mortimer had known Clarice all her life. “I’m mighty happy life has turned out good for you. Just don’t forget that we
do
know the property leasing business and will help you at any time.” Duty done, he gently hung up.
Clarice growled and continued her work. What an awful woman her mother was to make that poor man call her up like that. She knew damn well she would refuse with everything that has happened, and the poor meek man was expected to get her newly unleashed wrath? She scoffed and continued to wrap up her recent work, wondering what was keeping Farris so preoccupied the last several days. She chuckled,
maybe he is having the house completely redone.
She shook her head and dove into her projects once again.
Farris made up a cot in one corner of the business office. The whole second floor of the Big House was being torn up and refinished. Dina McGee lived with banging over her head all day and felt relieved when the noise stopped every evening. But the temporary output was far worth the end result and they all agreed to simply suck it up for the time being. It would be over soon enough since Farris had hired a small army to have the work completed before Clarice and the baby arrived.
Dina was on the phone every day with Clarice, banging or no, getting details on diaper preferences, baby sizes, powders and lotions, and any possible allergies. Already, the wives of Farris’ horse breeding colleagues were sending over boxes of baby clothes, new and used, and Dina was sorting them into piles. She sent Clarice pictures and in return got photos of baby gifts from friends in Tennessee. It was a well-oiled communication to say the least.
Every day Farris opened ornate envelopes containing shares of stock made out to John Thomas Croxton. At this rate, Farris mused in astonishment, the child would have his entire college tuition without his parents raising a penny. He hadn’t realized what a difference Clarice’s pictures, and his patronage of her, were making in the horse breeding community. Heaven help us, there were even stock certificates in Arabic! He smiled, knowing his son’s life was already heading up to be a great wealth and experience, unlike his own.
Still, Farris would give this all up to have Clarice here beside him. His son was a benign, chuckling cypher, but Clarice still held a piece of his heart, along with other portions of his anatomy. The couple talked over the phone every day and touched on every subject under the sun, but Farris still felt that a piece of him was somehow detached. The ache was no longer a gaping wound, but now he understood some of the racier passages in his father’s letters.
That night, Farris was awakened by his cell phone and answered it to hear a hysterical Clarice. “Farris, mother’s tried to commit suicide! They just found her in time because of her Medical Alert necklace, and they’re rushing her to the Vanderbilt ICU. Can you come down right now?”
“Let me see if I can get hold of your brother Angus.” Farris shook off his sleep. “I’ll make the pick-up arrangements with him. In the meantime, how are you?”
“I’m using the damned breast pump as fast as I can,” Clarice gasped. “I’ve got you on speaker. As soon as Prof Santana rouses a baby sitter, she’s driving me to Nashville. I’ll leave all the emergency numbers where you and Angus can find them.” She clicked off the phone line.
Farris turned on the light and went to his desk for his own set of emergency numbers. Angus, like all young men, was hard to rouse, but he snapped to attention immediately when he learned what had happened. “I’ll get over to her place and hold the fort until the Prof can find a babysitter,” he announced, amid noises of retrieval of fallen clothes. “Just call me with your ETA when you get it, and I’ll meet you over at the Dinkysburg Airport.”
Farris then made a whirlwind series of calls, all the while dressing himself and throwing together a few clothes to take with him. Within half an hour, he was seeing to the refueling of his plane. His fears lay with his new wife, despite the current physical conditions of his new mother-in-law. His gut told him that this was all part of some plot for revenge, hashed out by a spiteful old biddy who has finally realized she had lost the war. He scowled at the thought of this hanging over Clarice’s head like a black cloud of guilt.
“God, I’m glad I can leave you guys in charge here,” he told Terry McGee, who had dressed hurriedly and met him at the aircraft hangar. “The old witch was bound to pull something like this, I just hope nobody hands Clarice the suicide note. My whole marital situation is going balls up for the foreseeable future.”
It was mid-morning before Angus drove the old truck into what he called ‘Dinkysburg Airport’. “What’s the word?” he asked the ground control officer.
“Mr. Croxton will be here within the half hour,” that worthy assured him, “and he’s made arrangements to leave the plane here several days. You let me know if there’s any other way I can help.”
Angus sat in the elderly truck, sweating and trying to relax, until the small metal dot appeared in the sky. He got out and walked to the aircraft as it descended. Farris squealed to a stop, the runway still slick from a random rainfall. Angus watched anxiously for his exit, tapping a nervous finger on his jeans.
Farris jumped from the cockpit almost immediately, taking only a few moments to give instructions, and a wad of money, to the ground control officer. Then he grabbed his small bag and hurried over to Angus. “How are things now?”
“Get in and cool off,” Angus responded. “I’ve got some cold water in the cooler on the seat. I’ll give you the latest while we drive.”
“First off,” Angus started, “the situation has changed a little. The local drug store is already delivering some formula to the cottage to use when we run out of breast milk. Some fool policeman called and upset Clarice, and Prof Santana summoned our Sheriff’s Department to run Clarice up to the Vanderbilt Psych Ward. Prof got the whole thing fixed up with Dr. Carstairs. The poor girl’s really lost it temporarily, and, of course, the baby can’t use her milk when she’s all doped up.”
“Run that by me again.” Farris felt the bottom coming out of his world.
“Look, it’s not that bad, really,” Angus insisted. “Clarice was in fairly heavy therapy right up until little John Thomas was born. This, plus the birth hormones, has thrown her over the edge. She’ll be alright, really; Dr. Carstairs says so.”
“Alright.” Farris took a swallow of water. “I’ve just about got my head wrapped around that. Now, what’s with John Thomas?”
“Right now, Prof Santana and a couple of art coeds are sitting with him. The Prof’s got the full list of instructions Clarice wrote down before she got out of the hospital. We’ve still got some untainted breast milk, and the drug store formula comes with instructions. Everybody will be glad to see you when we get to the cottage, though.” A few minutes later, Angus eased the aging truck onto the stubble-covered ground.
Professor Santana met them at the front door, hands flat in front of her as if to ward off a blow. “Just a minute, Mr. Croxton. Let me get a word in edgewise before you blow your top. Clarice is going to be okay. Some idiot from the police department insisted on reading her a portion of her mother’s suicide note over the phone, and that did it. Fortunately, I was here at the time and helped her contact Dr. Carstairs.”
Farris could feel his temperature boiling at the news, his worst fear come to life. That moron, why would he tell a new mother in her condition something like that just after breaking the news of her mother’s attempted suicide? Where the hell did he get his badge anyway?
“Now. The drug store’s delivered the formula, with instructions for use when we need it. My girls are going to be happy to see you, because John Thomas is upset and needs his daddy.”
Farris rushed into the room, where a college girl in flip-flops was walking John Thomas in a circle, rubbing his back to soothe him. “Oh, good, Daddy’s here,” the girl said. “That flying suit won’t be much the worse for a little drool. Here’s an old diaper you can use.” She draped an obviously used cloth over Farris’ shoulder and handed the baby to him.
Farris began the pats and murmurings he used when one of the bitches had new pups, and his son began to calm down. Big blue eyes stared into Farris’ face. “You know,” Farris said quietly, “Dr. Shaunessy said your eyes are probably going to change color, but that won’t matter between us. You’re my boy, regardless, and you always will be.” The professor and her students looked awed and tremendously relieved. It was clear that Farris would be as good at fathering as he was at raising his horses and ranch, his gentle and reassuring hands were also good for soothing nervous baby boys back to calmness. Farris continued his stroking. “All right, Angus, where do we go from here?”
Angus sat down across from him. “I’ve talked to my Dad, he’s at Vanderbilt right now. His suggestion is that I hire a car here locally that will accommodate the car seat, we can even get one with air conditioning. I’ll drive up to our house, where my sisters are just waiting for a chance to play with the baby. Once we get there, we can leave John Thomas and his gear, and I can take you to see Clarice, or you can rent a car up there.”
“That sounds good.” Farris looked up at Lea Santana. “I remember a diaper bag, and a bunch of other bits and bobs. Can you and your girls collect them, along with the formula?”
The girls gave a giggle at Farris’s vague attempt to take charge of the baby situation. Setting about quickly they located everything little John Thomas would need on the trip. Angus set about reserving the car and the three said their goodbyes to the helpers, waiting anxiously for headlights. Soon the car pulled in the drive and the two men hurried along with baby in hand. Farris’s thoughts drifted sadly to his new wife.
She must be so afraid right now.
He thought sadly to himself as they drove along.
Alexandra and Bruna Pirtle were delighted to have a chance to play with their new nephew, cooing and laughing at the site of him in his car seat. Farris watched nervously as the woman dotted on his son’s every whim, but knew that John Thomas would at least be in knowing hands while he dealt with this mess. Angus drove Farris to the Vanderbilt Psychiatric Unit to meet Angus’ father.
John Pirtle led both men into the waiting room and sat them down. “Clarice is sleeping now, and they’ll explain to you at the desk the whole rigmarole you’ll have to go through to see her.” He looked at Farris’ dark-rimmed eyes. “You need some rest, too and we’ll have to see you get a quiet bedroom tonight. Actually, this whole thing with Clarice is not as serious as it looks, and it may even prove a blessing she’s getting the thing dealt with now.”
“I’ve heard of post-partum depression,” Farris admitted, “and wondered if Clarice would have a problem with it after all she’s been through.”
“It would have been nasty if she hadn’t just been doing all that therapy with Dr. Carstairs,” Pirtle admitted. “As for Marion, I’m afraid this is just the first of many spells I’ll have to deal with, since you’re getting Clarice out of reach.” He snorted suddenly. “And to think one of my bosses told me I had a cheap whore!”
“You’re having to handle some of the expenses for Mrs. Saxe’s care?” Farris asked, genuinely concerned.
Pirtle looked like steam was about to come out of his ears. “Trust Marion to have the cheapest health care – and the highest deductibles currently available. Well, she’s going to have to take an Affordable Care Act policy from now on, because now she’s got one hell of a pre-existing condition.”
Angus stared over at his father, eyes wide. “You mean you don’t think Ms. Saxe made a genuine suicide attempt?”
Pirtle just looked disgusted. “The police have determined Marion took six fairly strong tranquilizers with a fifth of Jack Daniels, slashed her wrists with a lady’s razor, and then pushed her medical alert button. Every law man worth his salt has seen that scenario before, and so have most doctors and bankers.”
“Apparently there was a suicide note,” Farris interjected. “Some damn fool in the police tried to read Clarice a portion of it over the phone.”
“Faugh!” Pirtle snorted. “Some of our country officers have spaghetti for brains. I heard Marion had written a note, a five page screed that would push anybody’s buttons. Poor little Clarice. The Franklin County fuzz will probably start calling me now that Dr. Carstairs has her on ice.”
“You think Ms. Saxe wrote some nasty stuff about you, Dad?” Angus asked. “Good grief, that was nearly twenty-seven years ago!”